


Whither thou goest

by Charles_Rockafellor



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dreamtime, Mind's Eye, Recursion, Universe in a grain of sand, Wood Between the Worlds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24384601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charles_Rockafellor/pseuds/Charles_Rockafellor
Summary: Whether chemically enhanced or by dint of superpowers, magical warps, or spacetime ships, a mind wandering over the infinite possibilities resembles a mind considering exactly such actions for practical travel - and with sufficiently advanced means, such musings and such travels become identical.  None of this means that it can be done with a little panache, however.𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆, 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒖𝒃𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒆! ❤️
Collections: Icewall





	Whither thou goest

You stand in a hall of paintings.

This hall is beautiful, ornate without being ostentatious, neither claustrophobic nor too open.

Well appointed with statuary and tapestries, dioramas and scrimshaw, it's the paintings that most capture your attention.

Any of these would do, it just happens to be the paintings.

You know that were you to touch one, you would find yourself within it. This same would be the case with any of the other pieces of art. Wherever any piece leads to at any one time isn't always where it leads to the next time. It could be, and it could be somewhat similar or greatly different. The only constant is that it leads to a place that holds that exact tableau in every instance.

How you know this is immaterial.

One painting in particular stands out to you.

A simple landscape, haunting.

A tree on a grass-covered hill.

What would you find there, this time? Little green men? A war? Bug eyed monsters? Cavemen?

Perhaps it would be a world identical to the last time there, some indiscernible difference, such as an electron zigging instead of zagging on the far side of the world – or something much different, such as an entirely incompatible biochemistry, similar enough only that the grass-looking stuff on the apparent-hill happened to carpet the area before the maybe-tree.

You might find a painting on an easel there, just off to the side and out of your current view. That painting could lead to others, and still others, on and on, world without end.

But then, they might lead right back to the hall.

Indeed, standing there, lost in contemplation, it's entirely possible that you are yourself only a painting in someone's eye, with the look of concentration painted ever so finely on your brow.

**O ~~~ O**


End file.
